Come sit with me
by Multicoloredtimeline
Summary: Before he was the great Sherlock Holmes, he was simply Sherlock. His story of Love, Confusion, and Death. And one girl that helped shape him into the person he is today.


It was the first day back at Maplewood School for Higher Learning. The higher learning part had no real meaning; the school board really just put it there for effect. Sherlock had spent the better part of the drive to his new school staring out of the window in a blank trance, watching the building and trees fly by in a rush of color. Soon, his family's black Cadillac drove into view of a large brownish-reddish bricked building, complete with wrought iron fence and all. His father had gone to this school. His brother had gone to this school. It was inevitable that he would go too. Last year though, his forms had gotten lost in the mail, and he had to spend a year at public school; his parents were not happy about that. He didn't understand why however - people are idiotic all the same, regardless of where they go to school. The year had gone by fairly fast, which was surprising for Sherlock. His classmates were as dull as he knew they would be, as were the teachers, and he was just glad that he was finally away from them. But he knew that the people would be just the same as his old schools: dull. The only difference was that he would have to live with them as well. That was the issue with boarding schools.

The driver pulled up to Dorm B, and Sherlock brought all of his belongings to room 11b, before sending the driver on his way. Sherlock had been one of the lucky few to get a room in the single person wing; he didn't want to have to deal with an annoying roommate. Sherlock assessed the room: a bed, a desk, a desk lamp, a bookshelf, and a dresser. The walls were a dark navy color and the far wall had a single window with white shutters. It was all very simple. For a few hours he set up his room in silence. Books on the bookshelf. Clothes in the dresser. He skipped dinner as he was, first of all, never that hungry, and secondly, he did not want to talk to people. He decided to go and find a quiet place to smoke. He had taken up the habit about a year ago when his father accidentally left a pack in Sherlock's room and, out of utter curiosity, Sherlock tried it and found it to be just what he needed. He found a place past the science building, behind a maintenance shed. He sat along the side of the shed and lit a cigarette with the Zippo he stole from his father's friend during one of his mother's dinner parties. He breathed in the smoke, closed his eyes and breathed it out, unaware of what would come in the following months.

The next day was a Monday, and the first day of classes; the first day of what was going to be, for Sherlock, a VERY long year. He didn't like being around people, and people didn't like being around him. Which was fine. The first few classes went by quickly. Math, easy. Geography, fine. After those two stale classes, the only thing that Sherlock was moderately happy about; advanced placement chemistry. He had loved chemistry since he was young, when his late uncle had given him a chemistry set. He had spent years experimenting on thawed steaks and sometimes, to his mother's horror, dead birds. It was soon enough stored away in the attic, once he had access to a better, more equipped laboratory at his middle school. When he arrived at his classroom, he sat down at one of the long desks set up in rows, which meant one thing; one thing that Sherlock dreaded - science partners. He, of course, had had science partners before. And they were all complete and utter imbeciles. So he was not particularly looking forward to having to share a workspace with an idiot child. After a few minutes, the room was full (though the seat beside Sherlock was empty, to his relief), and the teacher had begun to explain the make-up of an atom. Suddenly, a young girl had burst through the door. The teacher stopped writing on the blackboard and gave the girl a look. "I. Am. So sorry." The girl said, catching her breath. _American. _Sherlock thought. _Interesting. _The blue eyed girl walked quickly to empty stool beside Sherlock, sitting down beside him. She whispered a quiet "Hi" as she put her bag down beside her. As the teacher continued with his lesson, she held out her hand to Sherlock and whispered "Caroline." Sherlock glared at her hand for a moment before briefly taking it. "Hi" He said coldly back. Caroline raised her eyebrows at the, seemingly, anti-social boy. "Alright then" She said to herself. Through the entire class, they did not speak to each other again.

After a few more classes, Sherlock was finally able to escape for some peace and quiet. In two or three hours, dinner would be served, and he wasn't going to go. He was never very hungry anyways, so he decided to go to the maintenance shed an have a cigarette for dinner. He was already sitting there for a while (on his second cigarette by that point) when a figure came from his right. "OH!" It was Caroline, the girl from earlier. Sherlock worriedly grabbed his cigarette from his mouth, burning his hand in the process. "Dammit" He said dropping the cigarette on the ground. "Sorry!" Caroline apologized as Sherlock rubbed his palm. "What are you doing here?!" Sherlock says angrily. "I could ask you the same thing." Caroline retorted, not putting up with his anger. "I've been coming here to smoke since the beginning of last year." Sherlock glared at her from the ground. Caroline began rummaging around in her bag until she pulled out a box of cigarettes. "Here" She pulled one out and threw it over to him, which Sherlock just barely caught. She pulled out a box of matches and lit her own, leaning against a nearby tree. "Hey, I never got your name" She told him, waiting for a response. "Sherlock" He replied, not opening his eyes. "Hmm, interesting name" She said, puffing out smoke. They smoked in silence for a while until Caroline noticed Sherlock staring at her. "What?" She asked. "You're American" He stated. "Yes. That I am. What of it?" "Just an observation" She got an annoyed look on her face "Right. Of course it is." Sherlock's eyes furrowed, as he was not expecting her to say anything at all; maybe just give him an odd look and walk away. But no, she stayed and smoked. "What?" He asked her, confused. "I'm American. It's a big deal right? I mean, where are your beer bottles and your obese cousins?" Caroline had had this problem for a long time. Well, ever since she moved to her father's. "I wasn't thinking anything at all like that" he answered, throwing his finished cigarette on the ground. "Do people treat you like that? Everyone?" he asked curiously. "Well, I have a few friends, yeah, but a majority of the student body are still complete and utter assholes. Rich pricks" She took another puff of smoke before throwing her cigarette on the ground as well. "_Uuuuhhhhh, I'm British and rich. Muuuhhhhhh." _She mocked. "_I'm so much better than you! Bow down to me and my amazingness!" _ Sherlock smirked at the, surprisingly accurate, mockery of the brutish boys in their class. "What's this?" Caroline gasped in a sarcastic tone. "Is mister serious actually smiling? Be still my heart!" Sherlock stood up and looked her in the eyes.

"I do smile occasionally. You're not that special."

"Is that right?"

"Yes"

"Alright then"


End file.
